The Ministry of Magic’s main hall was magnificent. The dark wooden floor was polished to a mirror-like shine.

The ceiling was peacock blue, inlaid with shimmering golden symbols that shifted constantly. In the center stood a fountain, surrounded by a set of golden statues larger than life.

However—

Despite its beauty, everything felt chaotic to Dawn.

Nearly a hundred people bustled back and forth, clutching worn parchment and briefcases.

Owls flew overhead, delivering messages, occasionally shedding feathers as they passed.

Since Dawn wanted to find Dumbledore and the others—and feared being exposed even under the Disillusionment Charm—he once again transformed into an owl, blending in with the others overhead.

After flying forward for a while, a conversation carried on the wind caught his attention.

A name in particular made him look down.

The speakers were a wand registration officer and a short, rather plump wizard.

“Hey, Carl, guess who I saw in the elevator?” the plump wizard asked eagerly, clearly hungry for gossip.

“I don’t know, Andy. But if you’ve got time, I’d prefer you help instead of asking pointless questions,” the officer replied, dressed in a peacock-blue robe, his face full of irritation and fatigue.

But the plump wizard pressed on.

“I’m telling you—I saw Dumbledore and Minister Fudge together in the elevator!”

“Dumbledore?” The officer sighed. “What’s so special about that? Didn’t he come here all the time last year?”

“Dumbledore isn’t the interesting part!” the plump wizard said, grinning. “It’s who he brought with him!”

“The Boy Who Lived?” the officer replied flatly. “I’d actually like to see him.”

“Wrong!” The plump wizard waved his hand dramatically. “It was that so-called youngest dark wizard—Dawn Richter!”

“Dawn Richter?” The officer blinked. “Wasn’t he dead? I thought the Avery family killed him.”

“Who knows?” the plump wizard shrugged. “Anyway, he looked exactly like Dawn Richter. Or maybe it was that impostor who broke into Hogwarts over Christmas.”

The two of them continued arguing about whether Dawn was dead or alive for nearly twenty minutes.

Dawn listened just long enough to confirm one thing—

Dumbledore and his group had indeed come to the Ministry.

Deciding there was nothing more to gain, he prepared to leave and search on his own.

But then the plump wizard suddenly added—

“Oh right! Do you know where the Minister and Dumbledore took Dawn Richter?”

“Probably somewhere that leads directly to Azkaban,” the officer replied without hesitation.

“Azkaban?” The plump wizard blinked. “The Ministry has a place like that?”

“Just a guess,” the officer said, waving him off as another wizard approached for wand registration. “Forget it. Just tell me the answer and get out of the way.”

The plump wizard muttered absentmindedly, still distracted.

“They went to the Department of Mysteries.”

Click.

Dawn’s wings froze mid-flap.

He stopped in place, staring down at the two wizards, a terrible premonition rising in his chest.

Dumbledore and Fudge had taken his future self… to the Department of Mysteries?

Could it be—

Dawn’s expression darkened.

Without wasting another second, he flew to the elevator, transformed into a small beetle, and slipped through the gap into the shaft.

Crawling along the passage, he made his way to the Department of Mysteries level.

When he emerged, a dark hall stretched out before him. He moved quickly, slipping through door after door.

Shelves filled with prophecy orbs.

Brains floating in liquid.

Birds endlessly aging and reversing in time.

A door that could never be opened—

Everything in the Department of Mysteries was strange, wondrous, filled with the essence of magic.

But Dawn had no time to appreciate it. He squeezed through the gaps beneath doors one after another.

Finally—

In the chamber known as the Death Room, he saw them. A group of people stood gathered inside.

And above them, partially visible, was an archway.

Just as he feared.

The worst possibility he had imagined from their earlier conversation had come true.

Dawn’s heart sank instantly.

Still, he forced himself to stay calm.

In the form of a beetle, he circled along the edges of the room, trying to see what had happened to that other version of himself.

As his angle shifted—

He finally saw it.

At the center stood a massive stone platform.

Upon it rose a towering stone archway, draped with a tattered veil that fluttered without wind.

Beyond the thin, shifting fabric—

A figure lay collapsed inside.

Dawn stared blankly.

Even the intricate, star-like magical patterns surrounding it no longer held his attention.

“Albus… does this count as death?” Fudge swallowed nervously, taking a step back from the unsettling archway.

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore said gravely, watching the motionless Dawn within. “To be honest, I don’t fully understand this door myself.”

He paused, then glanced at Fudge.

“Still… I must say, it was fortunate you thought of this place.”

Even he had not considered it while searching for a solution.

“It’s nothing,” Fudge said, instinctively boasting. “As Minister, it’s my responsibility to understand every aspect of the magical world.”

Dumbledore shook his head and said nothing more.

But at that moment—

Dawn’s gaze turned cold as he stared at Fudge’s back.

Good. Very good.

Fudge… you’ve done well.

You’ve managed to think of something even I overlooked.

Dawn clenched his teeth, killing intent flickering in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to drag that man out and tear him apart.

The Veil.

The Veil of Death.

He had completely ignored it.

His memories—what he thought he knew—had misled him. He had subconsciously treated the Veil as nothing more than background.

So now—

A question arose.

With the immortality of a phoenix…

What would happen if he passed through the Veil? Would that immortality still hold?

Dawn took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

At the peak of his anger, clarity struck him.

Yes, the situation was bad. But the outcome would be acceptable.

If his future self could return using a Time-Turner— Then that meant one thing.

He had escaped.

That much was certain.

And just then—

The Headmaster raised his hand slightly.

The scattered stones on the ground transformed into ropes and shot toward Dawn behind the stone arch.

But the ropes passed straight through his body, as if he existed in a different dimension.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes.

After a brief pause, he tried again—this time casting a levitation charm on Dawn’s robes, attempting to drag him out.

The spell passed through him just the same. As though he were nothing more than a phantom.

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.

Although this outcome differed greatly from what he had originally planned, it seemed… acceptable.

In fact, perhaps even better than burying him underground.

After all, in this world, who could step into the archway of death and return with Dawn?

Dumbledore felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Then suddenly, another thought occurred to him.

Could a phoenix enter that arch?

“Alright, Albus!”

At that moment, Fudge interrupted his thoughts. He rubbed his arms, goosebumps rising from the cold, and urged, “Now that it’s done, let’s leave!”

He had no desire to remain in such a dangerous place.

Dumbledore came back to himself. Seeing Fudge already gathering people to leave, he hesitated for a moment before following.

He made a decision.

Once he left the Ministry, he would go visit the New Zealand Quidditch team.

There were only two phoenixes left in the world.

Besides Fawkes, the only other one was said to be in New Zealand—and it might be capable of passing through the arch of death.

Dumbledore intended to eliminate even that possibility.

After everyone left, the Death Chamber fell silent once more. Only the veil on the arch fluttered gently.

Dawn returned to his original form and stepped forward.

He stood before the arch, looking at the version of himself lying within, and said nothing.

If he set aside his worries and viewed it as an observer, he found the sight… interesting.

According to records, anyone who fell beyond the veil should disappear. But his body had not vanished.

It lay there like a faint projection.

Had the phoenix’s immortality reacted with the arch in some strange way?

Did this mean that version of him was still alive? Dawn shook his head, pushing aside the thought, and focused on another question.

Should he try to save him?

He walked slowly around the arch, silently observing the other Dawn within.

He had seen Dumbledore’s attempts.

That body was intangible—untouchable, like a shadow.

Perhaps…

Only by stepping through the veil himself could he interact with it.

Dawn returned to the front of the arch and took a few steps forward. It felt as though he could reach out and lift the veil at any moment.

But in the end, he stopped.

Even though the existence of his future self meant he would likely be safe for now, he did not want to act recklessly.

The idea of world correction had already shown him that there were things in the magical world worse than death.

Dawn considered for a moment.

Then he sliced open his wrist.

Blood flowed out.

With magic, he twisted it into the form of a phoenix. Grabbing it by the neck, he threw it straight into the arch.

The moment it passed through the veil, the phoenix let out a sharp cry.

Flames erupted across its body.

In an instant, it burned to ash—then a bald, newborn head emerged from the remains.

Dawn’s eyes narrowed.

It had been forced to reincarnate the moment it entered.

The arch of death lived up to its name.

The featherless phoenix struggled, leaving trails of ash on the ground as it repeatedly regenerated, crawling toward the Dawn lying inside.

But after a short while—

It suddenly froze.

Then turned around. And began crawling toward the outside instead.

Dawn frowned.

The magical creatures formed from his blood could only be influenced by him for a limited time.

After that, they would begin to act on their own instincts.

With a quiet exhale, he waited.

When the phoenix finally crawled out, he picked it up, reverted it back into blood by altering its structure, and burned it away.

Dawn lowered his head in thought.

Based on what he had just seen, he should be able to survive inside the arch.

And unlike a phoenix, which shrinks after rebirth, he would only become weaker—not smaller.

His mobility would not be affected.

If he acted quickly, he could drag the other version of himself out within ten seconds.

That was, of course, assuming he could actually touch him once inside.

It was risky.

But there was no other option.

Any normal creature would die instantly.

If he wanted to save him, he had to go himself.

And yet—

When he looked up at the arch again, he hesitated.

For some reason, as if guided by something intangible, he suddenly felt that pulling his other self out now… was not the right choice.

In that moment, he thought of the fortune slip.

The one that had foretold his future.

“You are about to encounter danger, but if you let things take their course, you will gain something unexpected.”

The danger was already clear.

Being thrown into the arch of death fit perfectly. But what about the second half?

Let things take their course… and gain something unexpected.

Where was that gain?

Did it mean that leaving his other self inside the arch would lead him to some clue about world correction?

Dawn frowned.

The fortune had been drawn when he was divining about that very topic. After thinking it over, the possibility seemed real.

The arch of death itself was filled with mysteries.

So—

What should he choose?

Dawn stood silently for a moment.

He changed his magical signature to resemble Grindelwald’s, trying to use the gift of prophecy to glimpse the future.

But nothing came.

Even the power of a seer was not a tool that could be used like a search engine.

Dawn sighed.

He tore a strip of cloth from his sleeve, transformed it into a coin, and marked its two sides with “Save” and “Do Not Save.”

Then he tossed it.

It landed in his palm.

He uncovered it.

Save.

Expressionless, Dawn tossed it again.

That hadn’t counted. There had been no sense of inspiration—no divination.

He flipped it several more times.

Then—

At one moment, he felt his soul lift, as though he were looking down upon the world from above.

When he came back to himself, the coin had already fallen. It spun on the ground, then came to a stop.

Dawn glanced at it. Picked it up. Then looked once more at the figure lying beyond the veil.

He took a quiet breath.

And Disapparated.

He reappeared in a remote, empty corner near Hogsmeade.

What now?

Dawn felt a rare sense of uncertainty.

His original plan had been simple—two versions of himself, supporting each other.

But if he chose to maintain the current situation…

He wasn’t sure what to do next.

Leaning against the wall, he thought for a while. Then he touched the Time-Turner hanging from his neck.

In the end, he decided to return to Hogwarts.

He remembered the vision—his future self grinding the Resurrection Stone into powder and dispersing it among the students.

If he was to let things take their course… Then the “unexpected gain” would likely occur in the castle.

Having made up his mind, Dawn shrank his form, transforming into an owl.

He took flight from the alley and headed toward Hogwarts.

The journey was smooth.

By the time he arrived, it was around noon. The practical lesson in the Forbidden Forest had just ended.

Students emerged in groups, covered in mud and looking thoroughly disheveled.

But their expressions were bright.

They had clearly enjoyed themselves.

Dumbledore stood outside the forest with the other professors, speaking in low voices about what had happened.

Dawn landed on a tree nearby.

Tilting his head slightly, he listened—hoping to catch something useful.

___________

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